


before I loved you

by sinequanon



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, Teen Wolf (TV), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-15
Updated: 2017-08-15
Packaged: 2018-12-15 20:40:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11813793
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sinequanon/pseuds/sinequanon
Summary: Things start going wrong for Stiles during the sacrifice; they don't really get any less weird after that.(Canon Divergent after season 2 for TW, AU for MCU.)





	before I loved you

**Author's Note:**

> So, I know that I said that this week's posting wouldn't be a crossover, but I was looking over the things I have left to post, and there's a lot of crossover stuff (when did I become the Crossover Queen, exactly, and why wasn't there a party?). Sorry about that. The stories I was going to post this week happen to be two of my least favorites, so I talked myself into waiting another week (like it's going to make some sort of a difference).
> 
> About the relationship tags: I intended this to be a Grant/Stiles fic, but as the story evolved, it turned into more of a pre-relationship scenario. While I was editing, though, I realized that this could also be read as Peter/Stiles, so I've tagged both relationships. There's also a relationship that I have deliberately not tagged for spoiler reasons.
> 
> Sorry for the long note, and happy reading!

Stiles wasn't sure what he expected to see when he agreed to the sacrifice, but a cave and four-eyed dog wouldn’t have made his top ten list.

The dog was huge, and bloody, but Stiles was surprisingly unafraid of the creature before him. Maybe it was all the time he had spent with werewolves, or maybe he had finally lost his mind, but he really had a strong desire to take the monster dog home, give it a bath, and feed it treats.

The dog seemed equally confused by Stiles, cocking his head and backing up slightly. He made no move to attack, but he positioned his body so that Stiles couldn't come any closer to the mouth of the cave that he was guarding.

For his part, Stiles felt both drawn to and repulsed by whatever was inside the cave, like a kind of a “right place, wrong time” sort of situation. If he wasn't on a time crunch, he’d probably hang around and try to figure out what was so compelling about it. As it was, he could see movement behind the dog, what looked like people going about their daily business, but Stiles was fairly certain that they were not normal people at all. He stood there for what seemed like an eternity, watching what little he could beyond the structure’s enormous guardian. He wasn't sure what he was looking for, but somehow he felt like he’d recognize it when he saw it.

He caught sight of an eerie dark-haired girl that looked so much like his mother that his heart jumped into his throat. The strangled sound that he made must have been louder than he thought, because the girl turned and looked straight at him and their eyes locked. She too, seemed startled--though he wasn't sure why--but before she could do more then take a step forward, Stiles felt a wrenching in his stomach that took him to his knees.

The dog whined, and Stiles reached out a hand to reassure him, but another sharp pain brought spots to the corners of his vision, and the last thing he heard before he blacked out was the sound of howling.

<> <>

Stiles woke up next to the nemeton, sweat-damp and shivering. There was no sign of Scott or Allison. He hadn't really expected to see them, but there was a strange feeling in the back of his brain that told him that things weren't going according to their pre-sacrifice plan. He was supposed to find the nemeton, and here it was, but Stiles wanted nothing more than to walk away. He couldn't see anyone, but he had the same feeling he had gotten right before Odin came and his mom got sick. Honestly, despite the fact that he hadn't seen the god in years, he wouldn't be surprised to find out that Odin had done something to mess up the sacrifice; he only hoped that whatever it was wouldn't get his dad killed.

He wasn't sure what he would do if he lost both of his parents to the All-Father.

At this point, there were a lot of things Stiles should have been doing: trying to find Scott or Allison; trying to figure out what the nemeton had to do with anything; trying to wake up...but he didn't do any of those things.

Stiles would never admit it to anyone, but he sat on the nemeton and cried until he woke up in Dr. Deaton’s clinic.

<> <>

The fact was, that in all the ways that mattered, Stiles had killed his mother. He hadn’t shot her or stabbed her, but if it hadn't been for him, Odin would have never found his mom and dad. His mom wouldn't have had to leave them and his dad wouldn't have lost months of his life to alcohol and heartbreak. If it wasn't for Stiles, his mom wouldn't have had to spend her last few weeks in the hospital, losing herself piece by piece.

Stiles knew that he had deserved all of the fear and anger she threw at him, even if it was hard for him to hear. After all, if he hadn't wandered away from his mom that morning, she wouldn't have gotten worried and used her powers to find him, and they would have stayed safe. But Stiles had gotten distracted, and less than a month later a Norse god was threatening to kill both of his parents if Stiles tried to stop his mom from leaving.

So, he watched his mom waste away and turn into someone different, knowing that it was because of him. It had been too difficult for him to accept the support Scott and Melissa offered him as his own family crumbled, so he taught himself how to look fine and act fine, even if he wasn't fine.

It was a skill he still used almost every day.

<> <>

Loki often wondered why Thor did not return him to Asgard after the Chitauri invasion, despite Odin's claim that he was much too dangerous to remain on Earth. He would like to attribute it to some sort of sentimentality on his brother’s part, but he thinks instead that SHIELD wants to use him in some way. He wants to be offended, but he finds himself fascinated instead, and he supposes that the wary acceptance of the Avengers is better than the scorn of his father and the rest of Asgard. He's not particularly fond of gilded cages, but better that than dank dungeons.

He would get restless eventually, of course, but for now he’d wait, and see how things developed. In truth, he was as curious about his brother's compatriots as they were about him. In fact, the further he was away from Odin, the more clear-headed he felt. He was still angry with his brother, but Clint Barton, in particular, fascinated him in a way he didn't understand.

As a general rule, he didn't like things he couldn't understand.

As a result, he spent an increasing amount of time following Clint around, dodging his brother's attempts to be sociable and delighting in seeing how many times he could make Fury swear or Widow scowl on a daily basis.

He slowly got to know all of them until it was habitual to casually greet Dr. Banner, prank Stark, or dine with his brother. Even Clint seemed to grudgingly accept his presence, though it did nothing to ease his confusion about why the other man seemed so familiar.

One night, he dreamed of walking through a deep forest with the archer by his side. Suddenly, a wolf burst through the trees and before Loki could react, Clint readied his bow and fired at the creature, driving it to the ground. It laid there, limp and bleeding, and as the two men stepped closer the wolf turned into a boy. Loki fell to his knees next to this wolf-turned-boy, full of sorrow he didn't understand, but the child’s eyes were already glassy with death.

Loki woke up with tears drying on his cheeks and a piece of paper clutched in his hand. The paper, Fury told him later, contained the phone number of a man named Noah Stilinski.

<> <>

Grant Ward arrived in Beacon Hills, California, on a balmy Tuesday night. Coulson had warned him that the town had seen periodic spikes in violence over the last decade, including the recent murders of several local deputies and the subsequent suicide of the boy responsible, followed by the ritualistic murders of nearly a dozen more people shortly thereafter.

There were names that kept turning up in the course of the investigation, and there was evidence to suggest that at least one of them was inhuman, so he would need to look all of them: Allison Argent, Vernon Boyd, Derek Hale, Isaac Lahey, Scott McCall, and Stiles Stilinski.

<> <>

If Stiles had known the consequences of doing the surrogate sacrifice beforehand...well, he would have still done it, but he might have thought about it a little longer or tried to come up with a better plan first, because if he had to live the rest of his life with nightmares and hallucinations, he wasn't going to even make it to his college years.

(Although, based on his trip to the hospital, that was looking increasingly unlikely, anyway. Stiles didn't actually want to die, but considering the current situation he figured he was just being realistic.)

It was a fairly nice day when Stiles decided to jump from the roof of the hospital. Unlike the tempest brewing in his mind, Beacon Hills itself seemed calm in a way it had so rarely been since Scott had been bitten. It made him think of all the completely ordinary days he and Scott had spent together before all of the supernatural drama had overtaken their lives. Then he thought of all the people that had been in his life since then: the Hales, Allison and Isaac, Erica and Boyd, and he couldn't regret the choices he’d made. Stiles hated that he was going to cheapen everyone's bravery with his act, but better to ruin the day now than after he’d gone on a psychotic, demon-induced rampage through town.

He may have stupidly let the nogitsune in, after all, but he was smart enough to deal with the consequences of his actions. If that meant that he had to kill himself; well, it was probably no less than he deserved for what he had already done to his family.

He could feel the nogitsune working its way through his brain even now, and Stiles stepped to the edge with a calm that belied his age and the situation at hand.

Honestly, Stiles expected more resistance from the uninvited resident in his head, but the demon stayed quiet as he took a few moments to stare at the horizon. This was the right choice, he reminded himself as he leaned forward…

Only to be yanked back from the edge and thrown to the ground like a sack of potatoes.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?”

Stiles opened his eyes, prepared to see one of the Hales staring down at him (both Derek and Peter had significantly raised the level of their stalker tendencies as of late, for some reason), only to find an entirely unfamiliar scowling, dark-haired man standing over him. He was obviously some kind of soldier, dressed entirely in black and noticeably armed.

Stiles scowled back at the man, but made no effort to get up, instead crab walking away from the stranger. “Get away from me!” he huffed.

The man raised his hands in a futile attempt to appear non-threatening, only to bite back a smile when Stiles snorted and rolled his eyes like he knew that the non-threatening thing was entirely an act.

(Which it was, because this guy could look threatening in his bathrobe, Stiles was certain.)

Grant, meanwhile, was surprised at the protective feelings that this strange possible inhuman created in him. He needed to get this guy back to Coulson before one of them did something crazy. “Look, I know people that can help you. You don't need to do this.”

The laugh the young man huffed out was so harsh and bitter that Grant backed up a step before he forced himself to still.

“I don't know who you are, but if you work for Agent Jackass, you can tell him to mind his own business.”

“Who?” Grant asked, watching warily as Stiles got to his feet. He shifted easily on his own feet, ready to tackle the young man if he moved toward the edge again.

“Rafael McCall, FBI agent and supreme asshole. He's here to hassle my dad. Ring a bell?”

Grant frowned, but committed the name to memory. “I'm not with the FBI. I'm with SHIELD.” If Stilinski was as bright as the file said he was, he’d recognize the implications of that statement.

Grant watched the information click almost immediately, and Stiles's eyes widened. Then he paled. “Oh my gosh,” he laughed desperately, “you think that I...and probably the others...oh, man, you have no idea…”

Just as Grant started to get concerned that Stiles might pass out, the young man abruptly straightened and looked at him with bloodshot eyes. “Let me make this easy for you. I'm not an inhuman, not by SHIELD’s definition, and neither are my friends. So, thanks for the save and all, but you can go back to New York now.”

Not by SHIELD’s definition? Had HYDRA already--

“There you are.”

The new voice nearly had Ward jumping in surprise; how had someone else gotten onto the roof without him noticing? His fingers twitched briefly toward his gun, but Stiles seemed resigned to the other man’s presence, not afraid.

Peter's eyes flicked from Stiles to Ward, gaze narrowed, before he very gently but firmly grabbed Stiles's elbow and began leading him toward the stairs.

“Peter?”

Peter gave Ward a tight smile that instantly raised the agent’s hackles. “Don't you know that you aren't allowed to leap into danger without my permission?” the man said lightly, giving Stiles an inscrutable look. “And I'm not willing to let you go.”

“Don't be creepy,” Stiles admonished, letting the werewolf lead him away.

“Thank you, Agent, for your assistance,” the other man said, barely glancing behind him to look at Ward, “but I'll take it from here.”

<> <>

Stiles wasn't entirely sure how he managed to get from the hospital to the loft, but the next time he truly became aware of his surroundings, he was laying on Derek's couch with his head in Cora’s lap and his feet in Derek’s.

“Are you back with us?” Peter asked from somewhere beyond Stiles’s head.

Stiles jerked and startled so badly that only Cora’s arms kept him from rolling to the floor.

“I--”

Peter was suddenly kneeling in front of him, and Stiles fought back a shiver. “I must admit, I'm impressed with the way you’ve managed to keep your rapid deterioration a secret, but really, Stiles, you’re only hurting yourself.”

Stiles opened his mouth to offer a retort, then closed it with a click. “I know.”

“Then why do it?” Cora asked. She looked irritated, but for her that was a pretty common expression so Stiles mostly just considered it her neutral face and reacted accordingly.

“This thing, I...I'm barely in control of my body anymore. And it's so powerful...it needs to be stopped--I need to be stopped--before it kills everyone. I can't be responsible for any more death.”

“Well, killing yourself definitely isn't the answer, and I'm perfectly willing to restrain and put you under house arrest to save your father the trouble,” Peter offered.

“Stiles, let us help you. Let us keep you safe,” Derek all but growled, and it made Stiles smile a little that even when everything else was falling apart, at least one person around him was exactly the same.

<> <>

Despite werewolf bodyguards (stalkers) and Grant's meddling in the Sheriff's department, Stiles’s condition steadily worsened until he asked his dad to put him into Eichen House. Absolutely everyone objected, but Stiles was resolute. The letharia vulpina would eventually wear off, and the nogitsune had to be contained before then.

Of course, he hadn’t realized how much of a madhouse the place really was until it was too late to escape, and the danger was just as real for him as it was for the demon.

Morrell might kill him to maintain the balance, but Brunski...he was his own type of monster.

So, Stiles fought through the haze of drugs, tried to make friends with his roommate, and told himself he was hallucinating from lack of sleep whenever he saw a familiar flash of black out of the corner of his eye.

When he woke up in the basement with Oliver, the nogitsune, and Grant, his first thought was that no matter how horrible of an agent he was, Grant Ward certainly didn't deserve to die in this place.

Unfortunately, possessed Oliver didn't seem to care as he stepped away from the unconscious Grant and toward Stiles, drill in hand.

“Oliver, listen to me! Stop. Oliver!”

 _“Start with him,_ ” the nogitsune rasped, motioning toward Grant.

“Just let him go.”

_“Let me in, Stiles. Do you want him to leave here alive? Do you want us to leave? We can walk out of this place.”_

“Just let him go, please,” Stiles begged, struggling against his bonds.

_“Let me in and I'll let him live.”_

Stiles screamed and sobbed, and mentally cursed the agent’s abysmal luck in coming to this crazy town, but he couldn't let him die.

He closed his eyes, prayed that someone would be able to stop him, and let go.

<> <>

Grant Ward had no idea exactly what was happening in Beacon Hills, but Stiles Stilinski was definitely in the middle of it. The last time he had seen the man had been in the halls of that spooky asylum, but by the time he had woken up in the basement, Stiles had vanished from Eichen House.

As much as Grant wanted to look for Stiles, neither Fury nor Coulson would appreciate it if he came home without information about the other five people on the list, so he put his own feelings aside to try and fulfill his mission objectives before Coulson had his head.

It wasn’t like he didn't have _any_ intel on the others: he’d spoken to each of them, including Derek Hale, and the one thing he’d managed to pick up from them--other than their loyalty to each other--was that they all seemed to be trying to protect Stiles.

He had followed Stiles into the asylum, hoping to figure out what was wrong with him, only to wake up strapped down in the basement of possibly the world's worst mental care facility. In fact, as soon as he got home, he was going to ask Coulson to look into the place. It might not be a front for HYDRA, but there were definitely dangerous monsters hiding within those walls.

He was going home with barely any usable information; but he hoped that at least the pictures he had taken for Fury of Stiles and the Sheriff would be useful.

Four days later, back in New York, he had the dubious honor of seeing a Norse god sob with grief.

At Fury’s request, Grant flew in to meet with the Avengers and the rest of Coulson’s team about the possible inhumans in Beacon Hills and around the country. Most of the inhumans that Grant’s team had found were grateful for the support, or at least grudgingly accepting of it, but no one else had been sent to a place quite like Beacon Hills.

Grant started off by explaining that while he didn't believe that any of his targets were inhumans, there was definitely something strange going on in that town, and with that particular group of people. The longer he spoke, the higher Fury’s eyebrows went and the more concerned Steve Rogers looked. The meeting went smoothly enough, though, until he brought up the pictures of Noah and Stiles Stilinski.

Loki, who had looked increasingly uncomfortable as the conversation about Beacon Hills progressed, went rigid in his chair at the sight of the photographs and made a horrible noise that Grant knew he would be hearing in his dreams for months to come.

Thor put a hand on his brother's arm, but Loki looked past him, eyes unseeing, as the memories of another lifetime came flooding back to him.

“My son,” Loki whispered. “My love. How could I forget you?”

“Brother?” Thor asked, frowning in concern.

“Those years I was missing from Asgard,” Loki began slowly, unable to tear his eyes away from the screen, lest the memories disappear again, “I lived on Midgard, and had a family. I was happy. I didn't want to leave.” The trickster god turned haunted eyes to the rest of the room. “Why did I leave?” he asked.

“Maybe for the same reason you attacked New York,” Stark offered. “Maybe someone made you.”

“My memory withered slowly. I was ill, and--” tears filled Loki’s eyes, “I forgot my son, my little boy. I...I feared him. Why…”

“Is it just me, or does anyone else suspect foul play on this one?”

All eyes turned to Fury.

“Despite all of the...shenanigans that seem to happen in this town in California, you lived there, happily, with your family until you suddenly get sick and lose your memory. You end up back on Asgard, and the next time you come to Earth, it's to destroy New York.”

“Who has that kind of power?” a woman from Coulson’s team asks, and Thor, seeing his brother's state, answers for him.

“Our father.”

Suddenly, there are plans for the Grant and the Avengers to go to California, with Coulson acting as babysitter. Loki lets the conversation roll over him, thinking about all the things that he had missed in his family's life. Even Fenrir and the others could see him whenever they wished, and they were much better able to protect themselves than his tiny human family. It was only after plans had been set that Clint spoke up and everything changed once again.

“There is one other issue I think we need to address,” he mentioned tightly, glancing from the photographs to Loki and back again, face abnormally white.

“This guy is only what, ten, twelve years older than me?” he asked, motioning toward the Sheriff's picture. Grant nodded. “I don't remember much about him--I’d have to ask Barney to be sure--but Noah Stilinski looks an awful lot like my dad.”

<> <>

After an exorbitant amount of unnecessary begging (not that Peter was going to tell Lydia that), Peter found himself in the McCall home, staring at the fox demon inhabiting Stiles's body. He watched--fascinated and slightly envious--as Scott and Lydia went inside Stiles's mind to fight the nogitsune, and in horror as Stiles rose up from a pile of choked-up bandages, still as pale and drawn as he had been after the sacrifice.

The nogitsune raced away with Lydia, Scott following soon after, and Peter seized the opportunity to take a closer look at Stiles without anyone hovering over his shoulder. It was obvious that the demon was still drawing on Stiles, even separated as they were, and would continue to do so until one or the other was dead.

Peter would definitely be taking care of this issue posthaste; as soon as Stiles didn't look like he was going to die at any moment.

Peter gave the young man a few minutes to catch his breath, but as soon as Stiles's admittedly hooded focus was on him, Peter started moving.

“Can you stand,” he asked, “or do you need me to carry you?”

Stiles's only response was a low hum, and Peter had him halfway to the car before Stiles realized that they were even moving. His brain focused just enough for him to register that Peter was murmuring to him, but not enough for him to figure out what the werewolf was saying.

It reminded him of the way his dad would rock him after a nightmare, soft and soothing, and Stiles let Peter guide him first into the car, and then later into the loft.

Distantly, Stiles realized that Peter was carrying him to the bathroom, and he wanted to ask why, but his tongue was too thick in his mouth and he didn't care that much, anyway.

He felt a warm washcloth against his face, and he focused again enough to see Cora watching him with concern.

“I’m fine, really,” he assured her. “I’m just tired.”

Stiles ignored the disbelieving snorts he heard and pulled his head together long enough to pat Peter awkwardly on the arm or chest--he couldn't really tell with his eyes closed--before he slipped into exhausted sleep.

<> <>

Scott might not trust the Hales, but according to the Sheriff, they had been treating the Stilinskis like family, and that was good enough for him at the moment.

Stiles was still deteriorating, but Scott had no doubt that his friend would be out hunting the nogitsune and searching for Lydia anyway if Peter hadn't started periodically pain-draining him into unconsciousness. Scott had expected the Sheriff to object to Peter Hale having such control over his son, but the man actually seemed to appreciate that Peter had the ability to make Stiles take better care of himself.

Even Derek and Cora, who were helping hunt for the nogitsune, had looked at Scott askance when he had questioned the eldest Hale’s motives.

He’d even asked Boyd, who had simply shrugged and told Scott not to worry about it, and Chris Argent who had given Scott a pitying look and told him that Stiles was probably the only one out of the pack who was safe with Peter.

At least Allison and Isaac had looked sympathetic when he’d brought up the subject with them.

They didn't have much time to talk about it, though, before Derek called to say that he, Cora, and Boyd were under attack.

Scott could worry about Peter later; now was the time to save his friends.

<> <>

If Grant had any doubts about the weirdness of Beacon Hills, the expressions on Thor and Loki’s faces when they crossed the city line silenced them.

“What’s wrong?”

The brothers exchanged a look. “Something evil lurks here,” Thor said slowly, "and it grows.”

“We’ll visit the Sheriff, first, to see if he can shed any light on the situation,” Coulson announced, not bothering to look up from his work. “Are the three of you going to be able to handle that?”

“Three?” Steve asked, confused.

This time, Coulson looked up at the group. “Thor and Barton are about to meet family that they didn't know they had; family reunions are hard enough when you already know everyone and only have to see them once a year.”

“I didn't think--” Clint began.

“Do you want my assistance, brother?” Thor asked.

“Loki will be going in first, naturally. The rest of us will wait,” Natasha stated, effectively ending the conversation.

<> <>

Loki had never been so frightened in his life as he was standing just outside the Sheriff's door. What if Noah wouldn't or couldn't accept him as he was now? What if he hated him for all of the chaos he had sown in New York? What if he refused to let Loki see their son?

A quick knock, and the sound of his lost husband's voice through the door fixed something in him that he hadn't known was broken.

The Sheriff was hunched over his desk when Loki entered, and didn't look up until the other man was settled in his chair.

“You look tired,” Loki blurted, and the Sheriff's head whipped up so fast that Loki was worried that he might accidentally frighten the other man to death.

Instead, the other man took in Loki’s features--almost identical to his beloved wife’s--before finally speaking.

“Claudia?” he breathed. “What are you doing here?” For a second, he looked indescribably happy, before he seemed to come back to himself and narrowed his eyes at Loki instead. “Are you one of the nogitsune’s tricks?”

Loki felt the ball of unease that had been sitting in his stomach since they had arrived grow. “A nogitsune, here? Why?”

The Sheriff's eyes darkened in anger. “To kill my son, apparently.”

Later, Loki wouldn't be able to recall the next few minutes of his life beyond the sudden buzzing in his head. All he knew was that when he came back to himself, his husband's arms were wrapped around him and most of the office was destroyed.

“I guess that's one way to get my office renovated,” he said drily. “You always said the station needed a bit of livening up.”

“I'm sorry,” he replied, but made no attempt to move from Noah’s arms. “I don't remember everything, but…”

“We’ll have time to talk after we save Stiles.”

“Tell me what you know.”

<> <>

The team split up: Bruce, Tony, and Coulson to help at the hospital; Grant and Natasha to find the rest of the pack; and Thor, Loki, and Clint to follow the trail of the nogitsune.

They found him near the entrance to the asylum that Grant had warned them about.

It was jarring to see such a ugly look from something like the smiling boy in the photograph, and each of them had to take a moment to acclimate themselves to the sight.

The nogitsune just watched them with hateful eyes and a smirk. The girl with him looked dirty and tired, but gave them an assessing glance nonetheless.

“He didn't tell me he’d be sending people to play,” the demon hissed, yanking Lydia to the side and gazing consideringly at Loki. “You like chaos, don't you? The buzz of panic and confusion--”

“Let the girl go,” Thor boomed.

The nogitsune grinned. “No.”

“This isn't Stiles,” the girl said suddenly, unflinching even when the monster hissed and shook her like a ragdoll.

“You can't have him. He’s MINE!”

Loki took a moment to stare at the creature wearing his son's face, and vowed revenge against Odin, and everyone else who would harm his family, and then he smiled.

“Everyone has their purpose, don't you agree?” he asked silkily.

The nogitsune frowned.

“Do you know where your purpose lies?” He stepped closer.

“My purpose is pain and strife.”

“Yes, it is,” Loki agreed. He looked into the nogitsune’s eyes and didn’t try to stop the wicked grin from spreading across his face. “Let me assist you with that.”

Loki plunged his hand into the demon’s chest only long enough to loose the fly which was thoroughly crushed under Clint’s boot.

“So,” Lydia said as Thor helped her to her feet, “I assume you want to see the real Stiles now?”

The three men stared at her.

“Don't you want to--”

“I'm fine,” she interrupted, waving them off. “I can clean up at the loft anyway.” She gave them a tired grin. “Besides, I want to see Stiles’s face when he puts the pieces together for himself.”

“He’s like his father, then?” Loki inquired as they walked.

“He’s a lot like both of you, if you are who I think you are,” Lydia answered without turning around.

Loki froze long enough that Clint had to pull his arm, and they caught back up with Thor and Lydia in time to hear the god inquire about Stiles.

“Tell us of the adventures of my nephew.”

(By the time the four of them reached the loft, it was clear that Lydia’s assessment of her friend's personality was accurate.)

<> <>

Thankfully, by the time Loki defeated the nogitsune, Grant and Natasha had provided some much-needed assistance to the rest of the pack, helped defeat the oni, and then dragged all of the youngsters to the hospital for checkups and to help the cleanup. If it was also meant to keep the pack busy during a certain reunion; well, none of the Avengers mentioned that part.

Which was why no one was there to interfere when Lydia led the remaining Avengers to Peter and Stiles.

The Sheriff had ultimately decided to let Loki visit Stiles without him, but had warned Peter ahead of time that Loki, Thor, and possibly Hawkeye would show up asking to see Stiles. Peter had originally been dubious--mostly out of concern for Stiles's still-fragile psyche--but the possibility that Loki could heal his son made Peter set aside his own feelings and invite the Avengers into the loft with only a bare minimum of contrariness.

Lydia, surprisingly, headed straight for the shower; only stopping long enough to place a gentle kiss on a bleary-eyed Stiles's cheek. Peter, torn between giving Stiles privacy and protecting him from possible threats, made himself busy in the nearby kitchen.

Loki took in the sight of his son, wan and weary, and had to force himself not to grab Stiles and spirit him away. If the twitch in Clint’s jaw was an indication, he felt the same way. Instead, the three men perched gingerly around the room, taking their cues from Stiles.

Stiles, of course, didn't react the way anyone expected, and there were tears in his eyes when he looked at Loki. “Are you mad at me?” he asked.

Loki frowned, and a quick glance at his son’s protector showed that he was confused as well. “Why would I be angry with _you_?”

“Because I wasn't strong enough to protect you,” Stiles whispered, and this time Loki didn't hesitate to pull the boy into his arms. “If I hadn't--”

“You were a child,” Loki soothed, though he seethed on the inside at the thought of all that his son had suffered. “It was not your burden to bear, and I am so sorry that I made you feel that it was, spell or no.”

“But, I didn't tell--” he choked on the sob, and it made Loki hold him tighter.

“You are my son, and there is _nothing_ that you could do to to make me love you less.” He pressed a soft kiss to his boy’s forehead as he had done when Stiles was small, and Stiles gifted him with a shaky smile in return.

“My brother speaks the truth; this is entirely Odin's doing,” Thor agreed fiercely. “You are not to blame, nephew.”

Stiles gave a half-laugh, half-sob, before letting his uncle pull him into a careful hug. Afterwards, he turned to Clint, and confusion flitted across his face before it melted into a considering look that had the other man remembering Lydia's earlier words.

“So, my dad is related to Hawkeye?” he asked incredulously, surprising a laugh out of Clint.

“I didn't know either,” he shrugged, “but I figure we could both use all the family we could get, if you're interested.”

“Of course,” Stiles said with a smile.

“As touching as this family moment may be,” Peter drawled from his place in the kitchen, “do any of you know of a way to heal Stiles, or at least make him a little less corpse-like?”

Stiles rolled his eyes. “Peter.”

“It has already begun,” the god declared fiercely, but kissed his son once more for good measure. “You still need rest, though,” he added, even as Stiles began to droop into his side. Loki helped him lie down, and Peter handed a blanket to Thor, who began carefully tucking it around his nephew.

“You're not going to leave, are you?”

“We’ll be here when you wake,” his mother assured him, fingers combing through his hair, and for the first time in a long while, Stiles fell asleep with a smile on his face.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from the Sonnet XXV by Pablo Neruda.
> 
> Because I was intentionally vague about it, the place where the sacrifice sent Stiles was Helheim, the girl he saw was his sister, Hela, and the dog's name (in Norse mythology, anyway) is Garm.
> 
> I have this picture in my head of Grant and Peter competing for Stiles's affections...but if I ever write anything about that, it will likely be in short bits that will end up in _alphabet soup_.
> 
> Next week: I will post the stories I was going to post this week. Really.
> 
> As always, thanks for reading!


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